The sun disappeared behind Monte Cinto and the tall shadow of thegranite mountain went to sleep on the granite of the valley. Wequickened our pace in order to reach before night the little village ofAlbertaccio, nothing better than a heap of stones welded beside thestone flanks of a wild gorge. And I said as I thought of the bandit:

"What a terrible custom your _vendetta_ is!"

My companion answered with an air of resignation:

"What would you have? A man must do his duty!"

THE DUEL

In society, they called him "The handsome Signoles." He called himselfViscount Gontran Joseph de Signoles.

An orphan and master of a sufficient fortune, he cut something of afigure, as the saying is. He had an attractive form, enough readiness ofspeech to make some attempt at wit, a certain natural grace of manner,an air of nobility and pride, and a mustache which was both formidableand pleasant to the eye--a thing that pleases the ladies.

He was in demand in drawing-rooms, sought for by waltzers, and heinspired in men that smiling enmity which one has for people ofenergetic physique. He was suspected of some love affairs which showedhim capable of much discretion, for a young man. He lived happy,tranquil, in a state of moral well-being most complete. It was wellknown that he was good at handling a sword, and still better with apistol.

"If I were to fight," he said, "I should choose a pistol. With thatweapon, I am sure of killing my man."

Now, one evening, having escorted two young women, friends of his, tothe theater, being also accompanied by their husbands, he offered them,after the play, an ice at Tortoni's. They had been there about tenminutes, when he perceived that a gentleman, seated at a neighboringtable, gazed persistently at one of the ladies of his party. She seemedtroubled and disturbed, lowering her eyes. Finally, she said to herhusband:

"That man is staring me out of countenance. I do not know him; do you?"

"Pshaw! Pay no attention to him. If we were to notice all the insolentpeople we meet, there would be no end to it."

But the Viscount arose brusquely. He could not allow this unknown man tospoil an ice he had offered. It was to him that the injury wasaddressed, as it was through him and for him that his friends hadentered this _cafe_. The affair, then, concerned him only. He advancedtoward the man and said to him:

"You have, sir, a manner of looking at these ladies that is not to betolerated. I beg to ask you to cease this attention."

The other replied: "So you command me to keep the peace, do you?"

With set teeth, the Viscount answered: "Take care, sir, or you willforce me to forget myself!"

The gentleman replied with a single word, an obscene word whichresounded from one end of the _cafe_ to the other, and made each gueststart with a sudden movement as if they were all on springs. Those thatwere in front turned around; all the others raised their heads; threewaiters turned about on their heels as if on pivots; the two ladies atthe counter bounded forward, then entirely turned their backs upon thescene, as if they had been two automatons obeying the same manipulation.

There was a great silence. Then, suddenly, a sharp noise rent the air.The Viscount had struck his adversary. Everybody got up to interpose.Cards were exchanged.

After the Viscount had returned home, he walked up and down his room ata lively pace for some minutes. He was too much agitated to reflect uponanything. One idea only hovered over his mind: "a duel"; and yet thisidea awoke in him as yet, no emotion whatever. He had done what he oughtto do; he had shown himself what he ought to be. People would talk ofit, approve of it, and congratulate him. He said aloud, in a high voice,as one speaks when he is much troubled in thought:

"What a beast that man is."

Then he sat down and began to reflect. He would have to find someseconds in the morning. Whom should he choose? He thought over thepeople of his acquaintance who were the most celebrated and in the bestpositions. He took finally, Marquis de la Tour-Noire and ColonelBourdin, a great lord and a soldier who was very strong. Their nameswould carry in the journals. He perceived that he was thirsty and hedrank, one after the other, three glasses of water; then he began towalk again. He felt himself full of energy. By showing himselfhot-brained, resolute in all things, by exacting rigorous, dangerousconditions, and by claiming a serious duel, a very serious one, hisadversary would doubtless withdraw and make some excuses.

He took up the card which he had drawn from his pocket and thrown uponthe table and re-read it as he had in the _cafe,_ by a glance of theeye, and again in the cab, on returning home, by the light of a gas jet:"George Lamil, 51 Moncey street." That was all.

He examined these assembled letters which appeared so mysterious to him,his senses all confused: George Lamil? Who was this man? What had hedone? Why had he looked at that woman in such a way? Was it notrevolting that a stranger, an unknown should come to trouble his lifethus, at a blow, because he had been pleased to fix his insolent gazeupon a woman? And the Viscount repeated again, in a loud voice:

"What a brute."

Then he remained motionless, standing, thinking, his look ever fixedupon the card. A certain anger against this piece of paper was awakenedin him, a hateful anger which was mingled with a strange sentiment ofmalice. It was stupid, this whole story! He took a penknife which layopen at his hand, and pricked the card through the middle of-the printedname, as if he were using a poignard upon some one.

So he must fight! Should he choose the sword or pistol, for heconsidered himself the insulted one. With the sword he risked less; butwith the pistol, there was a chance of his adversary withdrawing. It israrely that a duel with the sword is mortal, a reciprocal prudencehindering the combatants from keeping near enough to each other for thepoint to strike very deep; with the pistol he risked his life veryseriously; but he could also meet the affair with all the honors of thesituation and without arriving at a meeting. He said aloud:

"It is necessary to be firm. He will be afraid."

The sound of his own voice made him tremble and he began to look abouthim. He felt very nervous. He drank still another glass of water, thencommenced to undress, preparatory to retiring.

When he was ready, he put out his light and closed his eyes. Then hethought:

"I have all day to-morrow to busy myself with my affairs. I must sleepfirst, in order to be calm."

He was very warm under the clothes, but he could not succeed in fallingasleep. He turned and turned again, remained for five minutes upon hisback, then placed himself upon his left side, then rolled over to theright.

He was still thirsty. He got up and drank. Then a kind of disquietseized him:

"Can it be that I am afraid?" said he.

Why should his heart begin to beat so foolishly at each of the customarynoises about his room?--when the clock was going to strike and thespring made that little grinding noise as it raised itself to make theturn? And he found it was necessary for him to open his mouth in orderto breathe for some seconds following this start, so great was hisfeeling of oppression. He began to reason with himself upon thepossibilities of the thing:

"What have I to fear?"

No, certainly, he should not fear, since he was resolved to follow itout to the end and since he had fully made up his mind to fight withouta qualm. But he felt himself so profoundly troubled that he askedhimself:

"Can it be that I am afraid in spite of myself?"

And this doubt invaded him, this disquiet, this fear; if a force morepowerful than his will, dominating, irresistible, should conquer him,what would happen to him? Yes, what would happen? Certainly he couldwalk upon the earth, if he wished to go there. But if he should tremble?And if he should lose consciousness? And he thought of his situation, ofhis reputation, of his name.

And a singular desire took possession of him to get up and look athimself in the glass. He relighted his candle. When he perceived hisface reflected in the polished glass, he scarcely knew himself, and itseemed to him that he had never seen himself before. His eyes appearedenormous; he was pale, certainly; he was pale, very pale.

He remained standing there before the mirror. He put out his tongue asif to examine the state of his health, and suddenly this thought enteredhis brain after the fashion of a bullet:

"After to-morrow at this time, I shall perhaps be dead."

And his heart began to beat furiously.

"After to-morrow at this time, I shall perhaps be dead. This personopposite me, this being I have so often seen in this glass, will be nomore. How can it be! I am here, I see myself, I feel that I am alive,and in twenty-four hours I shall be stretched upon that bed, dead, myeyes closed, cold, inanimate, departed."

He turned around to the bed and distinctly saw himself stretched on hisback in the same clothes he had worn on going out. In his face were thelines of death, and a rigidity in the hands that would never stir again.

Then a fear of his bed came over him, and in order to see it no more hepassed into his smoking-room. Mechanically he took a cigar, lighted it,and began to walk about. He was cold. He went toward the bell to wakenhis valet; but he stopped with his hand on the cord:

"This man would perceive at once that I am afraid."

He did not ring, but made a fire. His hands trembled a little from anervous shiver when they came in contact with any object. His mindwandered; his thoughts from trouble became frightened, hasty, andsorrowful; an intoxication seemed to invade his mind as if he weredrunk. And without ceasing he asked:

"What am I going to do? What is going to become of me?"

His whole body was vibrating, traversed by a jerking and a trembling; hegot up and approached the window, opening the curtains.

The day had dawned, a summer day. A rose-colored sky made the city rosyon roof and wall. A great fall of spread out light, like a caress fromthe rising sun, enveloped the waking world; and, with this light, a gay,rapid, brutal hope invaded the heart of the Viscount! He was a fool toallow himself to be thus cast down by fear, even before anything wasdecided, before his witnesses had seen those of this George Lamil,before he yet knew whether he were going to fight a duel.

He made his toilette, dressed himself, and walked out with firm step.

He repeated constantly, in walking: "It will be necessary for me to beenergetic, very energetic. I must prove that I am not afraid."

His witnesses, the Marquis and the Colonel, placed themselves at hisdisposal and, after having shaken hands with him energetically,discussed the conditions. The Colonel asked:

"Do you wish it to be a serious duel?"

The Viscount responded: "Very serious."

The Marquis continued: "Will you use a pistol?"

"Yes."

"We leave you free to regulate the rest."

The Viscount enunciated, in a dry, jerky voice:

"Twenty steps at the order, and on raising the arm instead of loweringit. Exchange of bullets until one is grievously wounded."

The Colonel declared, in a satisfied tone:

"These are excellent conditions. You shoot well, all the chances are inyour favor."

They separated. The Viscount returned home to wait for them. Hisagitation, appeased, for a moment, grew now from minute to minute. Hefelt along his arms, his legs, and in his breast a kind of trembling, ofcontinued vibration; he could not keep still, either sitting orstanding. There was no longer an appearance of saliva in his mouth, andeach instant he made a noisy movement with his tongue, as if to unglueit from the roof of his mouth.

He wished to breakfast but he could not eat. Then the idea came to himof drinking to give himself courage and he brought out a small bottle ofrum, which he swallowed in six little glasses, one after the other.

A heat, like that of a burning fire, invaded him, followed almostimmediately by a numbness of the soul. He thought:

"I have found the remedy. Now all goes well."

But at the end of an hour, he had emptied the bottle and his state ofagitation became intolerable. He felt a foolish impulse to roll on theground, to cry out and bite. Then night fell.

A stroke of the bell gave him such a shock that he had not sufficientstrength left to rise and receive his witnesses. He dared not even speakto them to say "Good evening," to pronounce a single word, for fear thatthey would discover a change in his voice.

The Colonel announced:

"All is arranged according to the conditions that you have fixed upon.Your adversary claimed the privileges of the offended, but he soonyielded and accepted all. His witnesses are two military men."

The Viscount pronounced the word:

"Thanks."

The Marquis continued:

"Excuse us if we only come in and go out, for we have still a thousandthings to occupy our attention. A good doctor will be necessary, sincethe combat is only to cease after a severe wound, and you know thatbullets are no trifles. Then, a place must be found, in some proximityto a house, where we may carry the wounded, if necessary, etc., etc.;finally, we have but two or three hours for it."

The Viscount, for the second time, articulated:

"Thanks."

The Colonel asked:

"How is it with you? Are you calm?"

"Yes, very calm, thank you."

The two men then retired.

When he again found himself alone, it seemed to him that he was mad. Hisdomestic having lighted the lamps, he seated himself before his table towrite some letters. After having traced, at the top of a page: "This ismy testament--" he arose with a shake and put it away from him, feelinghimself incapable of forming two ideas, or of sufficient resolution todecide what was to be done.

So he was going to fight a duel! There was no way to avoid it. How couldhe ever go through it? He wished to fight, it was his intention and firmresolution so to do; and yet, he felt, that in spite of all his effortof mind and all the tension of his will, he would not be able topreserve even the necessary force to go to the place of meeting. Hetried to imagine the combat, his own attitude, and the position of hisadversary.

From time to time, his teeth chattered in his mouth with a little hardnoise. He tried to read, and took down the Chateauvillard code ofdueling. Then he asked himself:

"Has my opponent frequently fought? Is he known? Is he classed? How am Ito know?"

He remembered Baron de Vaux's book upon experts with the pistol, and heran through it from one end to the other. George Lamil was notmentioned. Nevertheless, if this man were not an expert, he would not soreadily have accepted this dangerous weapon and these mortal conditions.

He opened, in passing, a box of Gastinne Renettes which stood on alittle stand, took out one of the pistols, held it in a position tofire, and raised his arm. But he trembled from head to foot and the gunworked upon all his senses.

Then he said: "It is impossible. I cannot fight in this condition."

He looked at the end of the barrel, at that little black, deep hole thatspits out death, he thought of the dishonor, of the whisperings in hiscircle, of the laughs in the drawing-rooms, of the scorn of the ladies,of the allusions of the journals, of all the insults that cowards wouldthrow at him.

He continued to examine the weapon, and, raising the cock, he suddenlysaw a priming glittering underneath like a little red flame. The pistolwas loaded then, through a chance forgetfulness. And he found in thisdiscovery a confused, inexplicable joy.

If in the presence of the other man he did not have that calm, noblebearing that he should have, he would be lost forever. He would bespotted, branded with the sign of infamy, hunted from the world! Andthis calm, heroic bearing he would not have, he knew it, he felt it.However, he was brave, since he did wish to fight! He was brave,since.... The thought that budded never took form, even in his own mind;for, opening his mouth wide he brusquely thrust the barrel of his pistolinto his throat, and pulled the trigger....

When his valet, hearing the report, hastened to him, he found him deadupon his back. A jet of blood had splashed upon the white paper on thetable and made a great red spot upon these four words: